Mr. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. You would suffer the torments of the damned for what you had done. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands. She chuckled. ‘This, as you see, is an identity for your cousin, André Valade. Get it off your soul. Larry fell off the truck the Wednesday night before she planned on leaving. ’ ‘But you must want more.
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